Notebooks
by clair beaubien
Summary: Tag scene to Civil War. Tony finds Steve and Bucky in Wakanda. WIP.
1. Chapter 1

Tony Stark.

I thought it would take him much longer to discover that I had given Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes sanctuary in my country, but it was less than a month since Siberia and here he was, in my state apartments in the palace.

"Mr. Stark, I'm honored by your visit," I told him. It was not a lie.

"Tony, please."

"Tony. I'm glad we could meet when circumstances are less – _complicated_."

He smirked and gave what I would call a cynical laugh. "Yeah, right. Look, I'll cut right to it – I'd like to talk to Bucky Barnes."

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"Since he and Steve Rogers are here in your country, at what I assume was your invitation, I figure it has everything to do with you."

"You believe Sergeant Barnes to be in Wakanda?"

"Oh, yeah. Barnes and Rogers and the rest of the merry band Steve spirited off the floating fortress. They're definitely here."

"What makes you think they are in my country?"

"Well, let's see – you told Ross that you followed a 'hunch' to find Zemo in Siberia; you didn't tell him that Steve or Barnes were there, or even that I'd been there. So, already you were hiding them. And where else could Steve take Barnes? He needs medical attention, _specialized_ medical attention, and there's nowhere else Steve could get him that help and not have a global juggernaut on their asses two seconds later. But what really makes me think they're here, that they're _all_ here, is the fact that you haven't said they _aren't_."

I gave no answer, verbal or otherwise. Mr. Stark – Tony – sighed.

"Okay, look. I'm not here to drag them back or report their whereabouts or try and get in another few licks on Barnes. I think I can help him and I'd like the opportunity to discuss it with him."

"Help him how?"

"With his memories. With maybe getting those trigger words out of his head. Give him a shot at something approaching a normal life."

I didn't ask how he intended to do those things – my opinion had no bearing on the matter. " _If_ Sergeant Barnes were here, it would not be up to me whether or not you were allowed to speak with him."

"Look, just give Barnes this. He'll know what it means." He produced a plastic sleeve holding what at first appeared to be a large photograph. When he pushed it across the table to me I saw that it was a Captain America placard.

"And this is?"

"Call it a peace offering. Barnes will understand. I think he'll agree to see me if you give him that. _If_ he's here."

"Yes, _'if'_ ," I echoed him. "You know, I believe that word comprises either the most hope or the most regret in the world."

"And sometimes both."

"Indeed."

I left Mr. Stark in the capable hands of my assistant, directing that he be given a suite and the freedom of the palace, while I took the news of his arrival, and his peace-offering, to Sergeant Barnes.

 _Bucky,_ as he had asked me to call him, still resided at the hospital, and so Captain Rogers did as well. I did not find the two of them together as I normally did whenever I visited, however. Bucky was in his room, resting on his bed, staring at his overbed table. The bulk of dressings at his left shoulder had been reduced to a simple covering and the bruising on his face had faded from horrific to only just visible.

"Bucky? May I join you?"

His expression, which appeared troubled as he gazed at seemingly nothing, cleared as he looked up. "Sure."

"Steve isn't with you?"

"I told him to go for a run. He's got too much energy to burn off to be sitting here with me all the time. Do you need him? I expect him back pretty soon."

"I need to speak with you. I've been asked to convey a message to you."

"Oh?"

"Tony Stark is here in Wakanda."

Bucky nodded. "He knows I'm here," he said as though the information didn't surprise him.

"He surmised that this is the only place you would be safe."

"I can use as much of a head start as you're willing to give me –"

"You have no reason to leave; you are safe here and you will continue to be safe here. But I don't believe you to be in any danger from Mr. Stark. He assured me that he only wishes to speak with you."

Bucky hmpf'd in an amused way. "Then you better put one of us behind bars."

"You would attempt to harm him?"

"No, but I don't know if I'd stop him if he tried anything on me."

"As I recall, in Siberia you tried very hard to stop him."

Bucky looked away and shrugged his undamaged shoulder. "He was going after Steve. I tried to get away, I thought if I could get out of that place, he'd lay off Steve, but I couldn't get out. I had to protect Steve." His gaze returned to me. "You think he's telling the truth?"

"He asked me to give you this. He called it a peace offering." I set the placard in its plastic sleeve on the overbed table. Bucky's eyes widened as he stared at it. He lifted his hand as though to touch it then only hooked his fingers over the edge of the table.

"He brought this?" he asked. His voice was rough as though caught in his throat. "Tony Stark brought this?"

"He said you'd understand."

"No. I don't understand. Why would he give me this?"

Steve entered the room at that moment. "Who gave you what?" he asked.

Bucky gestured to the table. "Tony Stark brought this for me."

"Tony? He's here?"

"Not at the hospital," I told him. "He is at the palace."

Steve nodded, his jaw set. "I'll talk to him. If he needs to bring somebody in, I'll let him take me."

I was going to repeat that Tony had offered help and not threats but I was prevented by Bucky replying, "I never interfered in _your_ fights until you were eating pavement."

"Nobody said this is a fight," Steve said.

"No, not if you go in with your hands up."

"I said I was going to talk to him."

"You said you going to give yourself up."

"I _said_ –"

I felt I should interject before the discussion escalated into an argument. "Mr. Stark wishes to offer his help; that is his stated purpose in coming here. He asked me to give that to Bucky as evidence of his intentions."

Steve approached Bucky and the placard. Where Bucky's eyes had widened, Steve's eyes narrowed as he looked at it. "He brought you this?"

"It's from Bucharest," Bucky told him. "I got it in Washington, but you were looking at it in Bucharest."

"It was in your notebook."

"I looked at it whenever I –" at this point, Bucky seemed to remember that they were not alone, though he cast no glance in my direction. "I used to look at it."

"Tony brought this?" Steve asked me.

"He did. He wishes to speak with Bucky about helping him. It seems he may have an idea how to remove the words from his mind that cause the Winter Soldier to emerge."

Steve and Bucky stared at one another, unblinking and silent, until Bucky turned to me. "I'll meet him."

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

"Bucky –" it was odd and it was amazing to be able to say his name to his face again. To have him right there, right in front of me. To be able to have a conversation with him. Even if that conversation was an argument. "I think I should talk to Tony alone first. See what he has to say."

"You don't trust him?"

"I trust him. I just think –"

"You don't trust me?"

"I trust you, Buck. Of course I do. I just – "

"You just what?"

"You're still recovering. You don't want to push it."

"Push it? You wanna talk about pushing it? How many brawls did you wade into with knuckles already busted and lips already split? All I'm doing is talking to him. Tell me how that's pushing it?"

"Because this is a lot more than a back alley brawl."

"Nobody's going to be taking any swings at me."

"Maybe not physical swings."

He sighed. "I got no problem with anything Stark wants to say to me." He sounded suddenly tired. I guess I should've stopped arguing with him, but I guess I was hoping that he'd stop arguing with me and just let me talk with Tony first.

"Bucky –"

"He says he's here to help. If he's got any idea how to get this trigger outta me, I need to talk to him."

He turned away from me, to his hospital bed and the bathrobe tossed across it. He picked it up but didn't do anything with it. I asked him, "Need a hand?" and he rounded a look on me like Sr. Mary Claude in fourth grade when I accidentally said ' _jeepers creepers'_ in front of her.

"A _hand_? Is that supposed to be funny?"

"What? No – ugh – _no._ I only meant –"

"I know what you meant. But I can take care of myself," he said and it was too much. Seventy years too much.

"Bucky – _please._ Let me help you. All right? Let me just help you."

He looked at me and then at the bathrobe and then he gave in, "All right, thanks."

I held the robe for him so he could slide his right arm in then I pulled it over his left shoulder. "I'd rather I talked to Tony, first," I told him again. I didn't get the argument I expected.

"I'd rather you did, too," Bucky said, with a brief smile that looked painful. "That's why I have to."

.

To be Continued


	3. Chapter 3

I don't know what I was expecting when I started this little goodwill mission. I mean, I figured Steve wouldn't clock me as soon as he saw me, not after his own mission of goodwill with the phone. Leave it to Capsicle to make the first move toward forgiveness, right?

But I don't know what I was expecting from Barnes. I'd left him kind of a mess in Siberia, what with pieces of him scattered all over the place. I didn't think he'd try to finish me off – if he meant to do that, he wouldn't have agreed to a semi-public meeting with one of the few people in the world who could stop him if necessary as a witness.

But, whatever I'd been expecting, it wasn't what I saw when they walked into the meeting room. Steve came in first, looking – well, looking like _Steve,_ because no matter what, that never changes.

Barnes though – whatever else he was, Winter Soldier, assassin, boogey man, monster – the guy who came into the room behind Steve was just that, a _guy_. Maybe it was what I'd learned about him since Siberia, maybe it was how he looked turned in on himself - rolled shoulders, bowed head, furtive glances around the room, dressed in hospital PJs and a blue robe over his shoulders - but he looked like a guy. A broken down, bruised but healing, regular, guy.

Steve stepped back and let Barnes pick a chair at the table. He sat not quite opposite me and Steve sat right next to him.

"Cap," I greeted him, equably.

"Tony," he replied in the same tone.

Then I turned and mentally braced myself for this next part. "Sergeant Barnes," wondering what kind of answer I'd get.

He was frowning, staring at the picture of Steve I'd given back to him but he glanced up at me. "Bucky," he offered, like we were two guys who'd only just met and not recent mortal enemies.

" _Bucky_. Thank you." I nodded. "How – uh – so – how're you doing?"

"You think you can help him?" Steve asked.

"You got something against small talk, Capsicle?"

"You got something against getting to the point?"

I rolled my eyes and addressed Bucky, "Fine. I've been developing a device that I think maybe could help with your trigger words."

Steve asked me, "How?" just as Bucky asked, "Why?"

"How?" I addressed Steve first. " _So_ above your pay grade. Why?" I turned back to Bucky. "Well, why not?"

"Because twenty-five days ago we were trying to kill each other, and doing a damn good job of it."

"Twenty- _six_ , but yeah, I've – uh – had some time to think about things. _Aaaand_ , I'd like to help."

But he shook his head at my offer. "I don't deserve it."

"Bucky –" That was Steve. Of course.

"I don't, Steve. I don't deserve any of this."

Yeah, that was a conversation they'd apparently had quite a few times already.

"Look - I'm not going to discuss whether or not you deserve it," I told them both. "What I am going to discuss is that I want to do it."

"Will it keep me from hurting anyone else?" Bucky asked me even as he put his hand up to make Cap be quiet.

"Ironclad?" I had to tell him, "No. But, long term, probably."

"And what _is_ 'it', exactly?"

"It's called Binarily Augmented Retro Framing." I paused ever so briefly but apparently neither man in my tiny rapt audience put the acronym together. "So, basically, it connects with your brain to find traumatic memories and alter them. Then through an external projection of those altered memories, you work to overcome the traumatic experience."

Barnes listened carefully, then shook his head. "No."

"No? That's it? Just 'no'?"

"If it makes me lose the memories, then no."

"It doesn't make you lose your memories, it allows you to alter your memories."

"I keep the memories exactly the way they are."

I came here meaning to be calm, cool, and ingratiatingly helpful but this was a little too much. "For God's sake, why the hell would you want to keep any of _those_ memories?" I asked him. _Demanded_ of him, I guess. Cap's eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw so hard it was practically audible. But Bucky didn't even blink.

"The people I killed, their families, they're never gonna forget. Are they?" And he looked me in the eye like he was acknowledging that minefield between us. "They don't get to alter their memories, so I don't either. But the trigger words, yeah. Whatever you can do about those, I'd appreciate it."

"All right," I said. If nothing else, I figured I could get Cap to work his will on Barnes after we were done chatting.

"But really – why do you want to help me?" Bucky asked again.

"Did some reading." I gestured to the photo.

"You read my notebooks?" he asked. I expected him to be angry but his tone was hopeful. "You saw them? You saw my notebooks?"

"Notebooks?" Steve asked, putting emphasis on the plural. "More than the one in Bucharest?" I do admit that it gave me a sort of mean thrill that I might know even one thing more about Bucky than Cap did.

But Bucky didn't answer Steve. He kept his eyes on me. "They weren't thrown away?"

"No, they were not thrown away. As a matter of fact…"

I reached down and retrieved the 'Bucharest' notebook from the attaché case I had next to my chair and slid it across the table. Bucky stared at it, then dragged it into his lap.

"Thank you," he said. Then asked, "You read it?"

"I read _them,_ " I said.

"Them? Do you have – how many do you have?"

"All the ones that I forgot to return when I asked if I could get a look at them." I grabbed the case off the floor and pushed it across the table. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring your backpack, too. But I had to leave something in lock-up to fool them."

Bucky hesitated, then grabbed the case and pulled it close to himself. Steve was looking at me like he could kiss me, but when Bucky asked, "Why would you get these for me?" I knew Steve's good mood wasn't going to last.

"I'll admit, I started reading them looking for anything that would let me hate you even more than I already did. And part of me – part of me really wants to hate you. Wants to finish what we started in Siberia –"

Yeah, that made Rogers sit up a little straighter and open his mouth to say something, but Barnes put his hand up again and that's all it took to make Captain America stand down.

"I don't blame you," Bucky said to me. "What I did to your parents –"

" _Ah_ – no. Not talking about that. _Never_ going to talk about that, all right? Are we clear? Because – no – not talking about it. _Ever_."

I expected Rogers to get prickly about me getting prickly with Barnes, and I expected Barnes to get defensive or even go _Winter Soldier_ on me. But Steve looked like he was going to cry and Barnes only nodded.

"Then, why help me?"

"Because – " I looked down but I couldn't find anything on my suit jacket or dress pants to legitimately hold my attention. "I – uh – recently got a letter from a friend who said he'd be there any time I needed him. I figured maybe I could return the favor."

Cap gave me that look like he's genuinely smiling and openly smirking both at the same time. Barnes though, Bucky, he was giving me an intense stare.

"But _why_?"

I wanted to grind my teeth. "You know, I gave away a few hundred million dollars to some kids at MIT recently and not one of them asked me why, even once."

All that got me was matching frowns from matching super-soldiers.

I tried again. "You know Wanda, right? She can levitate? She's got the red, swirly stuff in her hands that can pull cars out of a parking garage and throw them on top of a guy who's only trying to do the right thing?"

Again, I got no response from my audience other than Bucky nodding, "She was in Germany. Yeah. She seems like a good kid."

I nodded my own agreement to that description. "Did you know that I killed her parents? And her brother?"

"Tony, c'mon –" Maybe not surprisingly, that was Cap coming to my defense.

"Okay, so maybe I didn't drop the bomb on their parents," I said. "But it was _my_ bomb. Had my name on it and everything. Advertising I guess, I don't know. And Pietro, her brother, her twin, died because of Ultron, because of something _I_ created. But she forgave me. Wanda forgave me. At least it seemed like she did. She moved to the compound and didn't try melting my brain or throwing me out any windows. I bet she'll even forgive me for getting her thrown into the floating hoosegow, now that _somebody_ –" I gave a fast shrug to Cap, " – busted her out of it. So, if after all of the bad stuff that I'm responsible for in her life, she can forgive me, I thought maybe it was something I could try. And if that's not a good enough reason for you, I don't know what else to tell you."

To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

I wasn't worth it. I wasn't worth any of it.

I wasn't worth Steve becoming a criminal to protect me.

I wasn't worth his friends going to prison for helping him protect me.

I wasn't worth being safe in Wakanda.

I wasn't worth being taken care of in this hospital.

I wasn't worth Tony Stark wanting to help me.

I wasn't worth him stealing all my notebooks to give back to me.

I wasn't worth Steve knowing when I got back to my hospital room that I wanted to be alone with the lights off and the curtains closed and every last notebook stacked next to me on the bed where I could keep my arm around them.

I wasn't worth, " _Hey, Buck? Just checkin' on you_ ," whispered around the door, who knew how much later.

I wasn't worth " _Steve?"_ being all he needed to hear to come into the room and over to the bed in the darkness.

I wasn't worth, " _They've got your dinner waiting for you, anytime you want it,_ " Steve knowing I couldn't take anything louder than a whisper.

I wasn't worth it that when my next breath choked out of me his hand on my shoulder was all it took to make me feel like I could breathe again.

I wasn't worth the offer, " _If you want something, need something, to rest, you know, the doctor has something he can give you. If you want."_

I wasn't worth it that when I tried to say something and nothing kept coming out, Steve stayed by me, and with me, and between me and everyone else the rest of the night.

I wasn't worth it. I wasn't worth any of it.

To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

Well, having a suite in a palace has its perks, I _guess._ I mean, the place needed a Friday or a Jarvis of course, but I was willing to make do with the fully stocked kitchen, big-screen TV, Wi-Fi, and king-sized _everything,_ including the huge patio with a breathtaking view overlooking a tropical garden and river beyond.

I was out on said patio the morning after my less-than-satisfying-but-at-least-I'm-not-dead meeting at the hospital when T'Challa paid me a visit.

"How was your meeting with Sergeant Barnes?"

"Didn't _quite_ go the way I was expecting. Then again, I'm not 100% sure what I was expecting."

"What did he think of your offer?"

"He's willing to let me try and get the trigger words out of him, which is good. But he didn't want me to even try and touch his memories, which – " I trailed off, recalling Barnes's adamance. "His choice, though, right?"

"As so little has been in his life."

"I know. I get that. I just – I can't imagine why he'd want to keep those memories intact. Not when he doesn't have to."

"Did you ask him why he prefers to keep them?"

"Yeah. He said – he said the families of the people he killed don't get to forget, so neither does he."

"That answer disturbs you?"

"I guess I'm used to my offers of help being accepted a little more willingly."

"I'm sure he's grateful," T'Challa said.

"I'm sure he is – or, even if he's not, I don't need him to be. That's not why I want to help him."

"Why _do_ you want to help him?"

I couldn't stop a burst of irritation. "Maybe because everyone seems so _surprised_ that I want to?"

Well, he smiled at that. "Perhaps you've surprised yourself as well."

I shrugged. I was aiming for nonchalance but I'm not sure I pulled it off. Yeah. Maybe I did surprise myself. I wasn't about to admit that to T'Challa. Or to myself.

"And if he doesn't agree to altering his memories," T'Challa kept on, "Will you feel you've failed? That some point you wish to make will not have been made?"

What was with all the hard questions? The incredibly hard, impressively incisive questions?

I shrugged again, trying to keep up the pretense of unconcern. "I'm just trying to help a guy out."

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky spent most of his night awake and in pain. Not physical pain. That would've been easy to fix. To blunt, anyway. A tablet, a syringe, and he'd get a break for a few hours at least. But it wasn't physical pain.

I stayed with him. He spent the rest of the day and night in bed with those notebooks right beside him. He refused supper, refused his therapy, refused anything to help him sleep. He didn't refuse me staying. So I stayed with him.

Morning didn't change anything.

"Breakfast for Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers!" the nutrition tech announced as she pushed her cart into Bucky's room. Her name was Ayana. She was young and sweet and always happy, and Bucky always complimented her on the colorful scarves she bound her hair up with. She wore a different one every day and I really kinda think that was for Bucky's sake, so he didn't have to work to find something to talk about.

But this morning, he didn't respond when she came in, he didn't as much as turn his head. That didn't seem to bother Ayana, she didn't lose her smile, she didn't try to cajole him into eating. She set one tray on the table next to the window and the other one on the overbed table, pushed off to the side away from the bed.

"I'll leave this here for whenever you want it."

Then she pushed her cart out and the room was quiet again. Too quiet.

"Not hungry?" I asked Bucky. It was a stupid question, sure, but it seemed like the only thing I had to work with.

It took Bucky a while to answer and when he did it sounded like a lot of answers compressed into one word, "No."

"You wanna talk about it?" I offered him then and he pulled all those notebooks closer to himself.

"No. No, I just need – _this_."

I got the feeling that I wasn't part of 'this', so I pushed the overbed table close enough that he could reach his food if he wanted, "I'm going to go stretch my legs for a minute. You should try to eat something," and left him to himself with his notebooks and quiet and the freedom to do whatever he wanted, and went out to the hallway for a walk and maybe some 'this' of my own.

And there was Tony down at the corner of the hallway, leaning against the wall, looking like a guy with nothing particular on his mind. Even here, he was wearing a three-piece suit.

"Waiting for a streetcar?" I asked him.

"Wondering where a guy can get a cup of coffee around here."

"Down here, the nurses let me use their machine."

He smirked. Of course. "I bet that's not all they'd let you use."

I chose to ignore the innuendo and led him to the staff lounge.

"So, how's Barnes today?" he asked when we had our coffee.

"He's still reeling a bit, I think."

"From his injury?"

"From somebody other than me caring about him."

"I don't care about him," Tony said, a little too fast. Maybe a lot too fast. "I mean – I don't wish him dead anymore, but I'm doing this – _trying_ to do this – for the greater good of the world, not for Barnes."

"Okay." There was no point arguing with him. "So, why are you stopping by so early? Ready to get started?"

"I wanted to talk to him again."

"He's not going to change his mind," I said.

"You think maybe you could convince him?"

"The greater good of the world being such a pressing matter right now?" I had to ask. "Tony, c'mon – what? What's this really about?"

He stared into his coffee like he was thinking of disappearing into it. Then he drained the cup and tossed it into the trashcan, "You let me know if Barnes will talk to me again, yeah?" Then he spun on his heel and walked out whistling like he had nothing particular on his mind, but his hands were too deep in his pants pockets and his shoulders were too high under his jacket.

to be continued


	7. Chapter 7

Steve.

Twenty-plus years in Brooklyn being friends. Best friends.

Sixteen months in war being brothers in arms.

Seven decades in hell trying so damn hard to remember him.

Three days in Washington trying so damn hard to kill him.

Two years in hiding reading every last scrap of news I could find on him.

A month in Wakanda, feeling – I'm not even sure what.

Safe, I guess. For the first time in a lifetime, I feel safe. I mean, do I even have a choice, what with Steve looming over everything and everybody who so much as looks at me?

Well, yeah, I do have a choice. I know I do. Steve looms _because_ I have a choice to not feel safe.

But the people here, everybody here, is kind to me and gentle and it isn't because they're afraid of me because they aren't. It isn't even because Steve is looming. They're just kind, gentle people and I feel safe. I feel safe and I feel protected.

I feel freedom.

Not _free,_ not that. I kinda think it's going to take another seven decades to feel that. But despite Steve's looming, or maybe, probably, because of it, I feel _freedom_.

Steve looms, he hovers around me and I feel his support and his encouragement.

Which maybe means that I feel cared for. That I feel friendship.

Love, even. Maybe. I think maybe I remember what that feels like. Right? Maybe?

I mean, what else would you call it when your best friend challenges the entire world to a stare-down for you?

I don't know.

I don't know what to call it.

I don't know what to call any of it.

Except to call it Steve.

The only word that means it all is _Steve_.

.


	8. Chapter 8

I found Steve Rogers in the atrium of the hospital. He was standing at one of the windows but his attention was focused on the cup in this hand.

"You stare into that cup as though it holds profound secrets," I said.

He chuckled. "I served under a colonel once who sure thought coffee held profound secrets. I'm just trying to get my thoughts together."

"Do these thoughts involve Tony's offer and Bucky's refusal?" I asked, and answered Steve's questioning look, "I spoke with Tony this morning. He told me Bucky's position on altering his memories."

"Yeah. No. I don't know. No." He sighed and stared once more into his cup. "I guess I'm finally processing everything that's happened with Bucky. With me. With both of us."

"Having your friend returned to you under these circumstances cannot be uncomplicated."

"Ha, no. It is definitely not that."

"If I may be of any assistance to you, you know you have only to ask."

"Thanks. _Thank you._ This, all this," he gestured about the room. "Has been more than I could've hoped for. If you hadn't offered us help, God knows where we'd be right now, or what shape Bucky would be in."

" _Heri yako heri yangu,"_ I said. "Your happiness is my happiness. Every guest is a blessing, as rain to parched land."

"That's a nice sentiment." He smiled and gazed into his cup one last time before setting it down on the windowsill. "I'm worried about him. Not – I'm not worried about his safety here, I know he's safe. I know we're all safe here. But what Bucky's been through – the memories he's going to have to live with the rest of his life. I just – I don't know."

"You think he should allow Tony to alter his memories?"

"I think Bucky should do whatever the hell he wants about anything and everything," Steve said, his smile turning into a brief grin. "But I know him. Even the short time we've been back together, even if he's not 100% the Bucky I knew, I know that the man he is is tortured by those memories. I still live with the things we had to do in the war, and that was _war_ and things I _chose_ to do, not things I was tortured into. I guess I just can't stand the pain I know Bucky's in, the emotional pain, and there's nothing I can think of to make it any better."

"Simply being with him, accepting him just as he is, is a gift far greater than you can imagine," I said.

"How do you know?"

"Hasn't it been true your entire lives that Bucky accepted you just as you were, accepted you as _Steve,_ with all that meant, whether you were Steve or Captain America?"

He smiled a fond smile. "Yeah, he did. Before the serum or after it, I was his friend, that was it. He never saw me different. Never _treated_ me any different. After all the nonsense, all the mess after the serum, it wasn't until I had Bucky back with me that I felt normal again. That I felt _safe_ , I guess."

"And so you would agree that having you beside him is not only what Bucky wants, it is what he needs? That your friendship alone makes 'it' better?"

He took a breath and started to speak and his tense expression led me to believe he was about to argue my point. Instead, he said, "It doesn't feel like enough. It's not _enough._ For everything he's been through, everything he's going to have to go through the rest of his life –I want to break something, _destroy_ something. I want to find every last HYDRA agent and destroy anybody, everybody, who had anything to do with hurting Bucky. I want to demolish that place they kept him in Siberia, take it apart brick by brick. And I could do it."

"Which makes simply walking beside Bucky the harder task to accomplish. Harder even than taking apart that missile silo brick by brick. Isn't that true?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

Well, one second I'm opening my suite refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. The next second I'm closing it again to find Barnes standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at me. If I hadn't been sure before how hard my heart could pound without making me pass out, I was sure then.

I had to swallow a few times; 1) to get my heart back where it belonged and 2) to give myself time to not sound as suddenly, utterly, panicked as I felt.

"So, what - they don't let you shave in the hospital?" I asked when I finally could. Barnes frowned, at me, at the concept of humor, at nothing. I don't know. He frowned.

He was dressed, sort of, jeans, a jacket that I'm pretty sure was Steve's over his hospital t-shirt. His boots, which also looked suspiciously like Steve's, were tied in square knots with the ends of the laces tucked inside. That seemed like it was probably a one-handed job.

"I'm guessing you didn't tell Cap you were coming here," I said. "How long you figure before he comes crashing through the wall to rescue you?"

The question in no way fazed him. "Is he all right?"

"He? You mean Steve? You're asking _me_ about Steve? You think I've got him stashed around here somewhere? He isn't at the hospital?"

"He's there. He was down the hall with T'Challa when I – "

"Went AWOL?"

That question didn't faze him either.

"I need to know if he's all right."

"What makes you think he's not?"

"I don't think he's not. I just – I ask him how he's doing and he says he's fine and I should only be worried about me. And that tells me nothing. I've been reading about him these past two years and everything he's been involved in and – is he all right? I know if he gets hurt, he heals fast. But – does he take care of himself? Does get enough to eat? Is he – does he have decent place to live?"

He was serious. He was deadly serious. The Winter Soldier was completely, deadly, serious about Captain America's dietary habits and living arrangements.

No, not the Winter Soldier. Not Captain America. As much as I wanted to nurse my animus toward him, I knew this wasn't the Winter Soldier asking about Captain America. This was _Bucky Barnes_ asking about _Steve Rogers's_ health and well-being. He was worried about the best friend he hadn't been able to look after for seventy years.

"You want to sit?" I offered. I gestured to the clean, simple, and I'm sure massively expensive, dinette table in my kitchen. Maybe if we acted civilized things would stay civilized.

"I just need to know about Steve."

"Well, explaining 'all things Steve' might take more than a minute. Sit."

He got a pinched expression and he pulled an answer out like he had to scrounge for each word. "I don't want to make you have to put up with me longer than you want to."

"Okay. Thank you. So, sit. You want some water? Orange juice? They let you have coffee?"

"They let me have anything I want. They're very –" he stopped and scrounged out another word. " – understanding."

The implications of that one word And my own memories of captivity, added to the things I'd read in Barnes's notebooks coupled with the visceral memory of that dark, cold, torture hole in Siberia, all combined to make me want to lose every last lunch I'd ever eaten.

"Yeah. Yeah, I've had some experience with – yeah, it's good that they do that," I managed to splutter out. He still wasn't sitting and I gestured to the table again. "So – sitting or not sitting? Because I can do either."

He frowned again, or still. Kinda hard to tell.

"I killed – " he started to say and in the split second between that half of his sentence and the next I inwardly cringed and outwardly sighed and desperately wondered how I could make Barnes shut up without getting myself obliterated by the Winter Soldier.

Then, that split second later he finished, " – Steve's friend."

Well, that threw me for a loop. Did he mean that he killed someone on his way from hospital to palace? Did he mean he'd be killing someone _momentarily?_ As in _me? As in now?_ "I beg your pardon?"

"Howard was Steve's friend, and I killed him."

"He was _my father._ They were my _Mom and Dad_ and you killed them."

"I know. I know it now _._ But before I only knew that I killed Steve's friend."

I hadn't thought of it that way. Not that I was required to, of course. And not that it lessened the enormity of him killing my parents, but, yeah, when I was learning that Barnes had killed my parents, Steve was learning that Barnes had killed his friend.

I'd never thought of it that way.

"Yeah, okay. You came all this way just to point that out to me?"

"I thought you'd understand."

"Understand _what?"_

"Every time I try to talk to Steve about what I did, he tells me it wasn't me, it's not my fault, I was controlled, brain-washed. I killed his friend and he won't talk to me about it."

"You think _I'm_ going to talk to you about it?"

"I think you won't completely dismiss the idea that no matter who might've had control of me, I still did it. Everything they made me do, _I did it_. I want – I just want someone to acknowledge that. If I can't acknowledge that, how can I deal with it?"

Then he shook his head like he'd said too much, or too much of what he hadn't meant to say.

"I'm sorry. That's not why I'm here. I need to know about Steve. I need to know how long it'll take to get the trigger words out of me."

"I don't know. Not instantaneous, I know that's the answer we're all hoping for. The equipment is configured for presenting altered perspectives of memories, not excavating triggers. It'll probably take some trial and error."

"And maybe set me off like a rocket in the process."

"Yeah, there is that, too. We'll take all precautions, of course. You'll be safe."

"Just make sure I can't hurt anybody else. Whatever happens to me…" He shrugged. "I just don't want to hurt anybody else."

"Okay. Yeah. We can make sure of that."

He nodded, "Thank you," and nodded again.

Still hadn't sat down, though.

"So – you want to hear about Steve?"

"Whatever you can tell me," he said, then added like it was a word he'd only just learned, "Please."

"Sit?"

He let out a breath like I was being persistent in something he'd already declined. But he walked to the table. He looked at the table. He looked at each chair. He pulled a chair out. He looked at the chair. He sat down.

I didn't know if I was annoyed or exhausted by how long that took. Then that dark, dank, deadly bomb silo and that cold, clinical, confining chair surrounded by all that vicious pseudo medical equipment intruded on my thoughts again and I was only sad.

"Water?" I offered again. "Orange juice? Pastry? Filet mignon? They've given me quite the set-up here."

He had to think about it and just as I was wondering if I needed to reassure him there'd be no libatious funny business, he said, "Water? Please? That'd be – I'd appreciate it."

"Sure. You got it, water coming up."

I grabbed another bottle from the fridge and set it in front of him then took my own chair across from him, still trying to hide the occasionally nauseating unease I was feeling being alone with him.

"How'd you slip past Steve, anyway? I thought at the very least he'd have some kind of motion sensing alarm on you."

He shrugged and said matter-of-factly, "I wanted to leave unnoticed. So I did."

 _Oh_. "So he really is going to come bursting through my walls anytime now," I said. I opened my water and took a sip. Barnes didn't touch his bottle of water and it took me a few seconds to realize why. I reached over the table and turned the cap for him. "Sorry."

He only shrugged. "No, I'm still getting used to it, too. I reach for things or try to push myself up or catch myself and it still takes me a minute to figure out why nothing's happening. Or why I'm suddenly falling on my face." He set the cap aside and drank some water. "Thank you."

My scientist/inventor/engineer brain immediately began to develop a prototype arm for him until my 'orphaned because of him' brain put a stop to the design.

"So – Steve?" I asked. I answer his questions, I get him out of my suite.

"Yeah, Steve," he said on the end of a sip of water. "Uh – he has friends, that's good. He needs – he's gonna need – "

And it up and jumped me in the face. "You want to go back to cryofreeze." I said.

He shook his head, looking quite definitely not at me. "I'm dangerous to have around," he said, like he was arguing with himself and I just happened to be there to hear it. "I shouldn't even be here. I shouldn't be risking your life. I shouldn't be risking anybody's life."

"But you need to know that Steve'll be okay if you do go back."

"I need to know Steve'll be okay if I _don't_ go back. And if it's gonna be a while until you know you can get these triggers out of me, I have to go back under."

I looked at him. The image I had of the implacable, impenetrable Winter Soldier was crumbling under the reality of the humble man in front of me, concerned for the safety of everyone in general and one person in particular. Especially when I said, "I think that'll break Steve's heart," and tears filled his eyes.

"What's the better answer?"

I didn't have a better answer and I didn't have a chance to say that because farther along in my suite a door banged open and we heard Steve bark out, " _Bucky_?!"

Barnes stood up fast, too fast. Maybe he overcompensated, maybe he tripped on a shoelace or the chair but he lost his balance and fell to his knees and I automatically went to help him.

Steve, of course, marched into the kitchen at just that moment, and if I'd ever thought the Winter Soldier was intimidating it was nothing compared to the look of utter rage on Cap's face when he saw Barnes on the floor, in tears, and me standing over him.

"Tony, I swear to God –" he was on me in a second, grabbing the front of my dress shirt with both hands and shoving me against the wall. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" And then he slammed me against the wall. " _What'd you do to him_?!"

"I didn't do anything. _I didn't do anything._ Barnes came here on his own."

I was saved from another slam, and probably a broken rib or three, by Barnes saying, "Steve, don't hurt him. He didn't do anything. I came here to talk to him. Steve, _please."_

Steve let go of me, not without a final warning scowl of course, and went to help Barnes to his feet. "All right, easy. Come on. Here we go."

"He didn't do anything," Barnes said as Steve helped him up. "I came to talk to him about getting rid of the triggers. I tripped, that's all."

Steve asked, "What about the triggers? Did you change your mind?"

Barnes sighed. He looked at Steve, he looked at me, he looked at Steve.

"We need to go back to the hospital. We need to talk."

##


End file.
